From the parched Februaries to scorching summers,
In a noisy chatter or disdainful murmur,
Like the flock of jaded dweller we gather year-on-year
At  morning assemblies almost a reluctant gear,
Brawn stiff, folding  sweaty palms,
We stand in an obliging calm,
Humming some lifeless prayer,
Eyes search for an empty chair!

Our sterling persona, our principal steer
Pious and potent in word and action dear,
Over crest and trough our Titanic we sail,
Amidst despondent doldrums, against unforgiving gale
Nine hundred aboard! Fourty crews labour,
Six hundred hours to the unseen harbour,
For the future denizens we glean and shovel
From the roughest gravel.

Some days were gleeful, some plaintive,
Oft times fuming, oft times festive,
Fingers are bleached and burnt by lime;
Heels ache and throat is aflame!
In six hundred days of tireless teaching,
To my children coaching and counseling,
Don’t you long for a refreshing shower?
Or for some timeless enlivening respite hours?

I long for Pizza Huts’s feisty supper,
For frosty Park pepsi and steamy momos, later;
Or for Sithar’s shamdre delicacy,
And heart ache for Rajesh’s temporary celibacy!
O’ comrades! Scorn my nurtured nature not my notorious name
For the fault and failings we saw as insane,
Ah! Our jovial adieu humbly must I whisper
To repose for a sizzling Tiger ere I retire!

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